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The Depreciation Guild
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A Room, A Canvas
on morning one when sunlight spoke
In an unfamiliar place i woke
my arms and limbs, all lines so faint
crudely sketched in paint
red, blood red, wall overhead
a work of art, the lover's bed
his pictures hung; the splattered marks
Then the curator, she starts...
'oh him? he was sweet.
now he's layers underneath.
our ink is forever.'
she lied through her teeth.
painted over
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love it grew from a simple crush
the colors saturate the brush
blue for honor, gold for truth
the artist's final touch
time, gray time, it warped the shapes
The canvas frayed and the work replaced
painted over, now all i see is
an envious shade of green
and now she hears me,
layers underneath,
from cracks in the paint;
a voice while she sleeps
painted over
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